


If Three’s a Crowd, Seven’s the Glastonbury Bloody Festival

by SirRobin126



Category: Cabin Pressure, Two's Company - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Comedy, Crossover, Gen, I just love both shows and i think they're perfect for Douglas' parents, Meeting the Parents, This is a pretty weird one, i love and adore douglas richardson, possibly my most niche work to date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirRobin126/pseuds/SirRobin126
Summary: Set several months after Zurich, the gang meets up again with the express purpose of meeting Douglas' parents (Robert Hiller and Dorothy McNab from the show Two's Company).Douglas is not happy with this turn of events, though it begins pleasantly enough. As the evening continues, amidst the clashing of personalities and intermittent teasing at his expense, Douglas fights to avoid his insecurities and dissatisfaction with his life situation bubbling to the surface and ruining the event for everybody.
Relationships: Carolyn Knapp-Shappey/Herc Shipwright, Robert Hiller/Dorothy McNab
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	If Three’s a Crowd, Seven’s the Glastonbury Bloody Festival

“I don’t understand why this is so interesting to you all. I mean, surely there’s something else you can think to do for a night out in London. It’s our capital city for pete’s sake, a cultural gem, the cradle of English empire and history.” Douglas stuffed his hands into his pockets and frowned, trying not to look too much like a petulant child, and suspecting he was failing miserably.

“Wow, you must like London a lot, Douglas.” Arthur said, sounding awestruck and looking around their bustling surroundings as if scouring for the remnants of British empire in the alley across the road, between the post office and the Waitrose. 

“No actually, I despise it, it’s dirty and loud and full of pretentious snobs who think they’re better than everyone else.”

“I rather like it here myself.” The unmistakable timbre of Hercules Shipwright sounded from behind them. 

Douglas rolled his eyes. “Exactly my point.”

He and Arthur turned to see Herc and Carolyn approaching them. Carolyn had her hand on Herc’s arm but was pointedly not looking at him. It was probably the best compromise Herc could expect from her in public.

“Good afternoon Herc, and to you, Mrs Shipwr-”

“Douglas Richardson, if you finish that sentence I will not only quarter and castrate you, I shall fire you as well.”

“Hi Mum! Hi Herc! Douglas was just complaining about us lot meeting his parents.” Arthur informed them chirpily as he divested Herc of the boxes of baked goods he was holding.

“Was he now?” Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised he’s so ashamed of them.”

“Yes Carolyn, it’s definitely _them_ I’m embarrassed about." 

“You know I had forgotten none of you had met Douglas’ parents before.” Herc said, though Carolyn gave him a look that suggested he most certainly had not forgotten that fact, and had indeed told her about it multiple times on the walk over. “They didn’t used to be such a closely guarded secret back when we were…”

“…at Air England.” Carolyn, Douglas, and surprisingly, Arthur, intoned at once. Herc had the decency to look a little chagrined, but it didn’t dull his charm, which Douglas thought was intolerably smug of him. 

Carolyn took in their surroundings, remarking casually, "I think it was terribly nice of your mother to invite us, and so lucky Martin was going to be in town as well, it really is two birds with one stone.”

“An appropriately violent metaphor Carolyn. Nothing could symbolise the collision of my work and home life better than a duo of bludgeoned geese.”

Suddenly a thought struck him, and the ever busy plotting gears in his mind cranked into motion. 

“Although,” he began, matching Carolyn’s casual tone, “now that you mention it, it will be the first time we’ve met up with Martin since he took the Swiss Airways job. I really think it should be _Martin’s_ choice.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” Carolyn replied, catching Douglas off-guard.

“Really?”

“Yes, of course, let’s ask him now.”

Douglas followed her gaze and spun around to see a snappily dressed young pilot walking towards them, in a well-fitting uniform, with a moderately sized hat tucked under his arm. The four of them stood glued to the pavement, a little gobsmacked at their former coworker’s transformed appearance.

“Hello all. Hercules, Carolyn, Arthur” Martin paused to smile, “and dear old Douglas.”

Looking at it objectively, Martin’s tone of voice was sitting somewhere between a mediocre lounge singer and an overly friendly shop assistant. Coming out of Martin’s mouth however, it was as if he were reincarnated as Sinatra himself. Martin had clearly taken Douglas' advice to heart. Still, despite the fact that he was the one who'd told Martin to fake his confidence in the first place, Douglas couldn't help a small pang of irritation that Martin was stealing his shtick. It was bad enough he had to put up with Herc.

A chorus of greetings burst forth from their little party, welcoming Martin back into the fold. Arthur beamed as he gave Martin a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey skip!” He chirped brightly.

To Douglas’ horror, he found he could not physically stop himself from automatically replying.

“Arthur, I am skip.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Douglas began to pray for something, anything, to wipe him and his unending mortification off the face of the planet. An inattentive motorist, a freak hot air balloon plummeting from the sky in a fiery wreckage, or a cataclysmic meteor crashing to earth intent on crushing him specifically so that no-one could ever remark on what he'd just said. 

Martin raised an eyebrow and gave Douglas his best condescending expression. “Haven’t we moved past all that nonsense, Douglas, is it really so important who is in charge?’

Oh where was a bloody meteor when you really needed one. Douglas narrowed his eyes and Arthur looked at Martin, confused.

“Why are you talking so weird, sk-” His eyes darted to Douglas and back, “…Martin? Oh that feels weird to say now.”

“Yes, Martin, why are you being so strange?” Douglas jumped on the comment. “Are you perhaps compensating for the rather sadly diminished proportions of your headgear?”

“Douglas?” Carolyn trilled from behind him, voice suspiciously pleasant.

“Yes, Carolyn?”

“Shut up.” She thwacked Douglas’ arm and walked over to Martin. She seemed torn between giving him a hug or a handshake and settled for patting his hand in a compromise that achieved neither affection, nor formality.

“It is good to see you again, Martin. We were all just talking about how excited we were to meet Douglas’ parents for the first time.”

Herc smiled annoyingly at Douglas. “Well, first time for some of us.” He remarked, annoyingly.

Douglas flicked some imaginary dirt off his cuffs, affecting an unbothered expression.

“Of course, Martin, as it is one of the precious few evenings you will spend with your beloved former coworkers away from your demanding and time-consuming job at Swiss Airways, it is _entirely your decision_ where we should go.”

Douglas met Martin’s eyes, trying desperately to send his former partner a telepathic message to think of somewhere, anywhere, else to go. To his utter dismay, Martin smiled.

“Oh Douglas,” his voice was still absurdly honeyed, “how exquisitely kind of you…”

That bastard. That Judas. That jumped up, no-good, too big for his britches, little twerp.

“…but I think, what I would like more than absolutely anything else, is to meet the pair of outstanding individuals who raised our good pal Douglas.”

“Oh me too, I can’t wait to meet Douglas’s mum!” Arthur chimed in, as usual, missing the teasing in Martin’s voice.

Martin cocked his head. “Just Douglas’s mum? We’re going to meet his father too you know.”

Arthur nodded. “I know, but mums are just more fun than dads you know. No offence, Herc.”

“None taken.”

On the contrary, Herc was hiding a smile and actually seemed to be glowing with pride that Arthur considered him a father, even if it was in an apology.

Even Douglas’ icy heart melted a little, though not enough not to ‘accidentally’ collide shoulders with Herc as he led the way down the street, resigned to the fates that had conspired against him. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, apart from all the things he’d undoubtedly done to deserve it.

“Alright let’s get a move on then, Carolyn you turn into a pumpkin after sundown, don’t you? I’d hate for you not to be indoors for that.”

“Douglas.” Carolyn’s tone was a warning.

“Sorry, or is it midnight? I never can quite remember.”

“Douglas!” She snapped, which put a satisfied smile on Douglas’ face.

Someday Douglas would pay a team of scientists to find out exactly why causing Carolyn Knapp-Shappey’s blood pressure to rise was so enjoyable. Until then, he would simply have to accept it as just one of life’s little pleasures.

They all filed into Herc’s car for the drive over. Not the sports car, but one he’d hired. One they could all travel in together. Presumably one he’d hired for the express purpose of transporting them all around together. The thoughtful bastard.

Douglas was crammed into the back, with him and Martin on either side and Arthur in the middle. No matter how many times Douglas calmly explained that his legs were too long and he was too tall for the back seat, he was over-ruled by Carolyn.

Her counterpoint was that those who were married to the driver got to sit in the passenger seat. Douglas of course told her that he was surprised she would leverage her wedding for such a trivial matter, but that he was more surprised she would admit it had happened at all. He followed up by agreeing that he didn’t blame her for not wanting to admit to being married to Herc. That series of droll sentiments led easily into Carolyn’s standard razor sharp retort.

“Shut up will you right now Douglas Richardson.”

At least he won yellow car.

They turned up quickly enough (too quickly if you asked Douglas, which nobody did) at a thin terrace house on a wide street. The box window at its front looked through a set of lace curtains into a well-upholstered, decent-sized sitting room. As they filed out of the car, an elderly woman stood up from a desk on one side of the room and waved vigorously at them all.

Douglas’ mother still hadn’t changed. She’d done the same thing every day when he’d walked home from school. He quickly arranged his expression into one of disinterested superiority, lest one of his companions briefly confirm their unjust suspicions that he did, in fact, have feelings.

The front door opened at their approach and on the threshold, guarding the rest of the house from their prying eyes, was an older gentleman with impeccably combed hair, wild eyebrows and suspicious eyes.

“Afternoon.” He greeted them, casting a lofty eye over the five figures that stood before him.

The atmosphere of general uncertainty that descended over Douglas’ confused compatriots was very enjoyable, especially as the man at the door straightened his back and crossed his arms, looking down at them imperiously.

“You and your gang of hooligans are here to rob me blind I suppose.”

With the exception of Douglas and Herc, the group was very taken aback by this. Martin, in particular, seemed very distressed to be accused of even thinking about breaking a rule. He began to splutter out a response, but Douglas cut him off. It wouldn’t do to let Martin break his new character so quickly. Instead, he answered for them.

“I had considered it, but I’m sure your valuables are all in hock down at the track until the races are over. We’ll settle for raiding your liquor cabinet I think.”

The man shook his head, sighing grandly.

“Mrs McNab won’t have alcohol in the house, I’m afraid.”

Douglas clicked his fingers in mock disappointment.

“Well then, do you mind if we come in and reassess our larcenous lifestyle indoors, possibly with a cup of tea to really make us think about the error of our pilfering pastimes?”

“Oh alright, as long as it takes for you to shape up and no longer.”

Herc stepped forward, ending their impromptu performance.

“Mr Hiller, a pleasure to see you again.” He extended his hand, which was taken reluctantly.

Douglas was pleased to see his father’s already mistrustful eyes narrow in further suspicion as he considered Herc. A crystal punchbowl had gone missing during a party his parents had thrown in 1983 and Herc had been the prime suspect for the next thirty years.

It had somehow slipped Douglas’ mind to inform Herc of that fact. He’d also spent the past three decades declining to divulge to his father where he had purchased the, admittedly strikingly similar punch bowl currently residing in own kitchen.

His father stepped back into the house, leading the way through to the living room, Herc and Douglas close behind. Behind him, Douglas could hear Martin, Carolyn and Arthur whispering amongst themselves as they followed.

“So is that Douglas’s dad then?” Arthur asked, clearly not following the strange father-son back and forth that had just ensued.

“He has to be," Martin replied, trying to keep the volume of his silky tones as low as he could, “didn’t you hear him? He sounds as if Douglas was being dubbed by David Attenborough.”

“Martin, given that you, entirely naturally and with no conscious effort on your part I’m sure, currently sound as if you are auditioning to play the role of Bing Crosby in a production populated solely by voice-over artists from shampoo commercials, am I to assume that makes you Douglas’ cousin?”

Martin was quiet for a moment before muttering, “thinking about that one for a while were you?”

“Only since we got in the car.” Carolyn replied brightly.

A loud noise sounded in the next room and Douglas had to wait for his ears to adjust a moment before he recognised it as his mother.

“Hercules Shipwright as I live and breathe!” Her brazen tones echoed into the hall, and he caught the trio behind him exchanging surprised looks as they entered the living room.

Douglas frowned and cleared his throat, regrettably wrenching his mother’s attention away from Herc and onto him. Dorothy gave him a look he was well accustomed to, before pulling him into a hug in which she barely came up to his chin.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.” Dorothy said, pulling back to take a look at him.

Douglas cleared his throat.

“Yes well, being the only competent pilot at MJN means I’m kept very busy.”

He was busy, that was true. It was also true that it had been a long time since he’d seen his parents. In fact, the last time had probably been just after his divorce. He and Helena had split and Douglas had spent a few days wallowing in self pity and misery, puttering around his parents’ terrace house. He hadn’t told them much about what led to the break up, and if he had his way they wouldn’t know anymore about it. He’d have to keep a close eye on his friends to make sure they didn’t divulge anything more than Douglas wanted them to.

Douglas turned, one arm around his mother. “Coworkers, former coworkers, hangers on, I’d like you to meet my mother, Dorothy McNab.”

Herc faked a look of awe. “Surely not _the_ Dorothy McNab who writes all those marvellous thrillers.”

“Don’t think your gonna pull that with me, Hercules.” Dorothy tried to look angry but quickly broke down and drew Herc into a hug.

Douglas shared an eye-roll with his father who left the room shortly after, presumably on some urgent piece of house care. Herc had Dorothy’s attention again, and they were catching up on the last decade or so since they’d seen each other. A prolific eavesdropper, Douglas caught some of the conversation and heard his mother talking about skipping a book signing to be there today. That was news to Douglas, and he was about to comment on it and ask her why she’d cancelled it when Arthur’s voice pulled him back.

“Wait a minute,” Arthur was wide-eyed as he looked from Douglas to Dorothy, “Douglas’s mum is _American_?”

“Surely that’s not too difficult to comprehend?” Douglas asked, but the look on his friends’ faces told him that it was.

Douglas frowned. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Martin your girlfriend’s from Lichtenstein-”

“Well I wouldn’t say from exactly, you see-”

Douglas kept talking, knowing that if he let Martin continue he’d never succeed in getting him to shut up again.

“…Arthur your father’s from Australia, and Carolyn you’re the one who married him.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Arthur’s face scrunched up as he considered Douglas’ point. “Yeah but it’s different, skip.”

“How exactly is it different?”

“Australia and Lichtenstein are normal countries. They’re not…” Arthur dropped his voice into an impression of what he thought a serious person might sound like, “…America.”

“There is nothing normal about Australia.” Douglas countered. He was interrupted before he could continue his point, likely focusing on the butchering of the English language, the criminal acceptance of shorts in public places, and continuing on that theme, the criminality of the entire continent.

“Are you talking about me over there Dougie?”

Douglas closed his eyes, naïvely hoping that when he opened them he would find that everything that had happened up until this point was nothing more than a bad dream. No such luck. Unfortunately when he opened his eyes he was still surrounded by his friends and family…and Herc.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your mother, _Dougie_?” Carolyn’s eyes were shining with an emotion Douglas could only liken to the glee felt by a cobra, seconds away from devouring a freshly wounded field mouse and drinking in the futility of its mousey cries for mercy.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet Carolyn Shipwright.” Douglas smirked at Carolyn’s indignant huff of protest at her new surname being mentioned. “Carolyn, my mother is an accomplished novelist and has been presented with a number of prestigious literary awards. Mother, Carolyn is the owner of MJN air, and by night terrifies the inhabitants of small European towns in the figure of a large dragon.”

That last remark earned Douglas twin looks of admonishment from both Dorothy and Carolyn. He felt a shiver run down his back, and quickly moved on.

“This here is Carolyn’s son Arthur.”

“Hi-”

“That’s enough from you.” Douglas began to move past him, but Dorothy hit his arm playfully.

“Dougie don’t be rude. Hi Arthur, I’m Dorothy, Douglas's mom.”

“Wow,” Arthur breathed, “that’s brilliant.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Dorothy peered up at Douglas, “its not always obvious.”

“I never thought Douglas had a mum.”

Dorothy blinked, looking from Douglas, to Carolyn, in search of an explanation. Unfortunately they had none to give.

“I’m sorry?” She asked.

“I mean, obviously I knew he had to have a mum but, I never really thought about him having one, it just didn’t seem like something Douglas would have.”

“I’m not following sweetheart.”

“It’s just, he’s just Douglas. He’s just always…there. Like, just always been how he is now, just Douglas.”

“Alright honey, don’t hurt yourself.” Dorothy patted Arthur’s cheek before moving onto Martin. “And who is this young man?”

“Mother, this is-”

Martin interrupted him. “Good afternoon, Mrs Richardson, I am Captain Martin Crieff of Swiss Airways.” He finished his introduction with a flourish, looking proud of himself. To his dismay, Douglas’ mother didn’t seem quite as convinced of him as he was of himself.

“McNab.” She replied, straight-faced.

Martin’s confidence wavered, suddenly unsure of himself.

“I- I beg your pardon?”

She crossed her arms, the gregarious American hostess disappearing behind a wall of formidable steel.

“McNab, not Richardson, and I think Douglas just told you that.”

Martin was sweating, and croaking as if his throat was closing up.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am, Mrs R- McNab, miss.”

Dorothy surveyed him imperiously, then turned to Douglas. “I think I’ll see if Robert needs any help in the kitchen."

Douglas’ mother had never helped in the kitchen in his life, certainly not if his father had anything to say about it. She was clearly just retreating to gossip about his friends with her husband, and to let Martin stew in his mistake, wondering if she was mad at him. She’d let him off the hook later, for now, he could dangle.

“What the hell was that Martin?” Douglas asked as soon as she passed out of the room.

“I’m sorry!” Martin’s hands were pressed over his eyes, clearly mortified. “I’d been practising my introduction in my head the whole time we’ve been here, I must have missed when you introduced her properly.”

“You were practicing to say twelve words?”

“Well I didn’t want to get any of them wrong.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

Douglas was torn. On the one hand, this hadn’t gone as bad as he feared, with so many strong personalities in the room he was worried they’d be on the brink of a shouting match by now. On the other hand, with every passing second Douglas found himself wishing more that this was over and done with. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much that these two facets of his life were colliding, but he didn’t like it.

If he were a man given to self-reflection he might conclude that it was because he’d spent so much time carefully constructing his outward image to the point it had overwhelmed his own identity and now anything that hinted at intruding on his privacy threatened to collapse his entire sense of self, explaining the compulsive self-aggrandising lies that plagued his third marriage.

Thankfully, he was not a man given to self-reflection.

“Hope you have an appetite, Robert’s gone a little crazy with the appetizers.”

Dorothy and Robert re-entered the room, both laden with trays of finger foods. They placed them down on the coffee table in the centre of the room, and gestured for everyone to pull up chairs. Arthur immediately began loading up on every kind of food he could see. Carolyn cleared her throat and looked pointedly at Arthur who momentarily paused in his one man quest to break the world record for most hors d’oeuvres inhaled in a minute, to quickly retrieve one of the boxes of baked goods they’d brought.

“It’s not much, but we thought we ought to bring a little something.” Carolyn said, as graciously as she was capable of. Douglas was fairly impressed at how polite she managed to sound.

Dorothy opened the box’s lid to look at the brownies inside.

“Oh these are wonderful, did you bake them?”

“Heavens no,” Carolyn sounded almost offended, “other people have studied for years to be able to bake well. I work, therefore I should be able to pay them for their services.”

“Don’t get your panties in a bundle dear, I’m not much of a baker myself.”

Robert stifled a laugh and Dorothy turned to look at him.

“I heard that Robert.”

“What do you mean, my panties in a bundle?” Carolyn asked, her politeness beginning to stretch.

“Oh, I’m sure you’d say something about having your,” Dorothy affected a poor English accent, “‘knickers in a twist’.”

Carolyn’s ears began to redden and, sensing trouble, Herc used that moment to cut in.

“You know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you Dorothy, and I’m sure Douglas hasn’t told you…”

“I do apologise that I’ve neglected to keep my parents abreast of the innumerable adventures of your frightfully compelling personal life.”

“…be that as it may, you might not be aware that Carolyn here is my wi-”

“Employer.” Carolyn finished for him, the redness of her ears now due more to embarrassment than to anger.

“Well, technically yes, but she’s also…”

Carolyn waved a hand to stop him talking.

“Hercules and I are acquainted, lets leave it at that.”

Dorothy looked amused, and a smirk played at Herc’s lips.

“Yes,” he agreed, “we have exchanged words several times.”

Carolyn looked pleased at that level of disclosure, though her expression darkened as Herc continued.

“The most memorable of which, being of course, ‘Will you marry me?’ and ‘I do.’”

Dorothy laughed and Herc ignored the daggers coming from the direction of his wife.

“So you’re the brave lady who tied down Captain Hercules Shipwright?” Dorothy asked, placing an entire canapé in her mouth.

“Yes.” Carolyn conceded. “Well, one of them at least.”

“Lucky woman.” She jokingly winked at Herc and Douglas rolled his eyes.

“Lucky number five.” Carolyn retorted.

“That’s a lucky number.” Dorothy was beginning to get defensive, which to Carolyn was like whisky to a bull, still mad at the matador, but a lot less careful about where it was aiming its horns.

“It is not.”

“It is in America.”

“Well there you go, what a ridiculous country.”

“Are you calling my country ridiculous?”

“Yes, I do believe I was being quite clear on that matter”

“Then let me be ‘quite clear’ on this matter. I’ve lived in England for most of my life but I still think it’s the most ridiculous little country I’ve ever been to. I never had to curtsy in America.”

Carolyn accepted a cup of tea from Robert who was passing them around on a tray.

“Just out of curiosity, how much curtseying do you believe we do on a regular basis here on our ridiculous little island?”

“More than we ever do back home. I curtsy every time I go to the damn cinema.”

“You do?” Carolyn asked, surprised.

“You don’t?” Dorothy asked, equally surprised.

A short silence followed as Dorothy’s eyes widened, then quickly narrowed and slid over to her husband. Robert, who had clearly been eavesdropping on the conversation, had now put down his tray and was slinking out the door.

“Robert.” Was all she said.

Robert froze in the doorway, looking back at her and affecting an expression of idle curiosity. He fiddled with his cufflinks as he tried not to look her in the eye.

“Yes, how can I be of help?”

Dorothy’s voice was dangerously measured.

“Have I been curtsying unnecessarily for forty years because you told me it was an English custom and it would be rude not to do it?”

Robert pursed his lips and considered the question.

“Well it’s not so much that it is an _existing_ English custom, only that it _ought_ to be a revered English custom. If one does not have standards, one has nothing.”

“You’re about to have a whole lot more of nothing, mister.”

“I do apologise, I would continue this riveting conversation but unfortunately I appear to smell something burning in the kitchen.” Robert scurried off, Dorothy glaring at him the whole way.

“Yes, I do believe I also smell something burning in the kitchen. Do you, Martin?” Douglas asked.

“No,” Martin replied, before clocking Douglas’ pointed expression, “Oh, I mean yes of course I _also_ smell something burning in the kitchen, let us both investigate-”

“Oh knock it off, Columbo.”

They left the room, Dorothy and Carolyn beginning their transatlantic debate once again, with Herc attempting to jump in and play referee.

“I blame you, you know.” Douglas told Martin as he led him down the hall.

“Blame me? For what?”

“For bringing those two within boxing distance of each other, and for invading my childhood home like this.”

“Oh come on Douglas, we’re having a good time, we just wanted to meet the people responsible for Douglas Richardson. Which reminds me, what’s this ‘Richardson’ business about? Neither of your parents are Richardson.”

“Ah well,” Douglas shifted uncomfortably, “it was a decision I made just before med school. Hiller was very plain and McNab didn’t quite roll off the tongue, ergo Richardson.”

“Just because it sounded better?” Martin asked incredulously.

“Its not my fault you let yourself be saddled with Crieff.”

The truth is, it had been part of Douglas’ rebranding. His mother was already famous, and while it was sometimes nice to receive the benefits of that, his ego had a hard time reconciling it. Hiller, he did admit, was mostly because he didn’t quite like the sound of it, and he preferred to be nearer the end of the alphabet than the beginning. It might sound silly, but the further your name was from the beginning of roll call, the cooler you seemed. Or at least, that’s how it had appeared to him at the time.

“Is that you?” Martin asked, pointing to a picture hanging on the hallway wall.

Douglas stopped in front of it. It was an oval wooden frame surrounded by floral wallpaper, and within the frame was a black and white picture of a small boy in overalls, holding a baseball bat. His mother had gone behind his father’s back to teach him baseball, and Robert had responded by signing him up for a youth cricket team and getting them tickets at every nearby game, which suited Douglas perfectly. He would watch cricket with his father and baseball with his mother, and whenever he needed to deploy a distraction (say, when he was sixteen and trying discreetly to sneak out of the house to go to the pictures with a girl the year above him at the all-girl college down the road whom he’d passing notes to through the schoolyard fence) he would tell each parent what the other one had said about their national pastimes and let them duke it out between them.

“Yeah that’s me,” he told Martin, “eight years old and ready for the world series.”

“Hmph” was all Martin said in reply.

Douglas peered at him. “What do you mean hmpf?” He asked.

“Nothing. Just…”

“Just what, my god Martin if you talked any slower we’ll have progressed lightyears as a civilisation before you’ve got to your next sentence.”

“All I meant was that the picture wasn’t what I expected.” Martin explained, jaw tight.

“What did you expect then?” Douglas asked as they kept walking.

“I don’t know, I guess it’s like Arthur said. It’s difficult to imagine you not being how you are now.”

“So what, you expected pictures of me in my MJN uniform? I’m not you Martin.”

“That could not be more obvious. I’m not sure what I thought you would look like. You but smaller I guess, maybe a suit and tie, lounging on a BMW…”

“Little top hat and tails?”

Martin laughed. “Yes, something like that, certainly not overalls.”

A twinge tugged at Douglas and he tried to shake it off. They looked into the kitchen but didn’t find Robert there, so returned to their search. As Douglas turned away from the doorway he came face to face with a blank stretch of wall.

“Hmph” he said.

“What’s that hmph for?” Martin asked.

Douglas looked as if he didn’t know what Martin was talking about.

“It was just a hmph.” He explained, casually.

“You made me tell you about my hmph.”

Douglas brushed past Martin on his way further down the hall.

“I don’t know what to tell you Martin, sometimes a hmph is just a hmph.”

“Is it about me, is that why you won’t tell me?”

“Not every hmph is about you Martin, lord knows where you get this kind of ego, you must have picked it up from someone at Swiss Airways.”

Nevertheless, Martin continued to question and Douglas continued to evade. His hmph had in fact meant something, and it hadn’t been about Martin. That blank stretch of wall he’d been confronted with hadn’t always been blank. It used to contain a photo of Douglas and Helena, it still had the last time he’d been there. Before that it had been his second wedding, and long before that his first. Pictures of his daughters still littered the house, but not his weddings, which was just as well he supposed. He imagined it might have resulted in worse than a hmph if he’d looked into his own naively happy, wedding-addled face instead of the printed magnolia wallpaper. He cast a glance back down the hall, suddenly worried about what was being said without his presence.

Douglas found his father, not in the kitchen, but in the study. They’d converted this room for Dorothy to write her books in, but after a few weeks of intermittent use she’d proclaimed it too cramped and had returned to her desk in the living room. Since then, it had been everything from Douglas’ music room, to Robert’s smuggling den for that one time he’d needed to hide just under a thousand pounds of Croatian goat’s cheese to resell to an interested, presumably cheese-enthusiastic, buyer. Now, he found his father in front of the bookcase, replacing the fake book that contained a small bottle of scotch. He had a glass in his hand, and another already poured for Douglas.

“Ah, you brought your friend.”

“Yes,” Douglas handed his glass to Martin, “Martin, this is my father, Robert Hiller. Father, this is Martin Crieff, my former colleague, now a captain at Swiss Airways.”

“Ah, you’re the gentleman who hit the geese.”

“I, I’m sorry?” Martin asked.

“He’s referring to the Russia landing, the birdstrike and engine failure. I mentioned it in passing a few years ago.”

“Oh,” Martin looked very pleased at that, Douglas would have to remember not to inflate his ego further, there was already enough of that in the house with him and Herc, not to mention Robert. “Then yes, I am the- the gentleman who hit the geese.”

“And you’re now employed by Swiss Airways?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Large firm isn’t it? International.”

“It certainly is, I’m constantly flying all over the world.”

“I’m sure you are.” Robert had the same glint in his eye Carolyn had that time Douglas had asked her to provide a reference for his new apartment and her mind was racing with all sorts of things she could make him do in exchange.

“Martin, you don’t have to-” Douglas began, trying to rescue him before it got worse.

Martin waved him off.

“Douglas, please. Your father is simply interested in my job, and I don’t blame him, after all the variety and quality of aircraft we have to work with are fascinating.”

“I’m sure,” Robert agreed, “lots of hold space in these new aircraft.”

“Martin you don’t understand-”

Martin laughed condescendingly. “I understand perfectly Douglas, I don’t know why you’re being so difficult. Anyway as I was saying, yes lots of hold space, and might I say quite a lot of private cabin space for pilot’s belongings, or more specifically, Captain’s belongings.”

Fine, if Martin was going to make his own bed he was free to lie in it too. It wasn’t any of Douglas’ business that the bed was about to slam backwards and fold up into the wall that was Robert Hiller angling to make him a smuggler. Still, he ought to head it off before his father said anything overtly incriminating.

“We should head back,” Douglas announced, “they’ll be wondering where we are. Or they might be killing each other. Either way, we ought to put in an appearance, even if its just to cheer on the victor.”

“I assume you have many international connections?” Robert asked as they made their way back down the corridor, barely keeping from rubbing his hands together with glee.

“Oh yes, a lot, well, one. Well, my girlfriend.”

Robert raised an eyebrow, “oh yes?”

“Ah yes,” Martin’s cheeks reddened and he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m actually dating the princess of Lichtenstein.”

Robert’s expression fell immediately, and he straightened up, clearly believing Martin had been teasing him.

“Of course, sir.” He replied, falling back into the stiff politeness he had used back when he was working.

Martin laughed nervously as they stopped in the doorway to the living room.

“I know it sounds strange, believe me it still sounds strange to me, but it's true. Douglas, tell him.”

Douglas looked from his father’s disbelieving expression to Martin’s earnest face. Martin’s condescending laughter rang once more in his ears, and Douglas made his decision. He turned to Martin, frowning.

“Really, Martin, I can’t believe you’re trying to spin a tale like that at a time like this.”

“Douglas!”

“I don’t know where he gets these things from,” Douglas said sadly, “I’ve tried to talk him out of it.”

“Delusions of grandeur.” Robert concluded. “I’ve seen it in the best.”

“You’ve seen it in yourself !” Dorothy chimed in.

Robert nodded and settled himself into an armchair.

“Quite right. Just as I said. The best.”

Dorothy stood up and made her way over to Robert’s seat, snatching the glass from his hand and taking a sip.

“Whatever he’s trying to sell you Martin, don’t feel bad. You know, one time Robert tried to convince me he was ‘acquainted’ with the Royal Family.” She perched herself on the arm of Robert’s chair. “Well, it wasn’t until I’d spread that around my circle of friends that I found out he meant Mr. and Mrs. King who ran the grocers down on Edgeworth road.”

“I maintain that I never said a word of a lie, whether you misconstrued my phrasing or not was entirely coincidental.”

“Sure, and it was just a coincidence you were hiding the grocery bags from me for weeks.”

“Purely incidental.”

“Mrs McNab,” Arthur asked suddenly, startling everyone, “I have a question.”

“Sure kid, shoot.”

“Well I’ve been sitting here and eating, but also thinking, and just like I couldn’t really imagine Douglas with a mum, I can’t really imagine Douglas as a little boy. I try to imagine it and all I see in my head is…Douglas, but…smaller.”

“Well that’s pretty much correct.” Douglas was quick to answer, ignoring the look Martin gave him. “Just like this, but smaller. Not much smaller of course, I have always been exceptionally tall.”

“Not when you were little Dougie, it took him until he was fifteen to have his growth spurt. Until then he was always the shortest boy in class, shorter than most of the girls too.”

“Wow.” Arthur said, eloquently.

Douglas could feel that unpleasantness again, going beyond mere embarrassment at a family story. He couldn’t help the feeling that the image he wanted people to see wasn’t anywhere near as clear anymore. At work he could have them think whatever he wanted them to about his family. With his family, he had free rein to tell them whatever he wanted to about work. Now, he was losing that freedom. Every question, every new revelation, meant one less lie he was able to tell, one less way he was able to twist reality to his will like the mighty sky god he was.

He also really didn’t want them to know he used to be short.

“His mother spoiled him rotten of course.” Robert said, the conversation continuing despite Douglas’ mini crisis of self expression.

“His mother, Robert?” Dorothy was askance.

“Why, yes.”

“Oh and just who was it that taught my little boy how to deal blackjack, and took him to all those horse races?”

“Those were educational. You were the one who was constantly praising him, nothing Douglas ever did was less than perfect in his mother’s eyes.”

His friends were clearly enjoying this window into Douglas’ life even if he was not. Why couldn’t they just let the whole thing alone he wondered, what about him was not enough that they had to go poking around for more?

“You know, Douglas,” Martin said, chuckling to himself “this is beginning to make a lot of sense.”

“Isn’t it just.” Douglas muttered. “I know, how about we talk about something other than me for a change.”

“Douglas, are you feeling alright?” Herc asked, seeming concerned.

“I’m fine, why?”

“It’s just that we don’t think you’ve ever uttered those words before in your life.” Carolyn finished for him.

“Somebody ought to check the weather report in case hell’s frozen over.”

Herc and Carolyn shared an insufferable grin between them.

“Despite the continued hilarity from Laurel and Hardy here, how about we do discuss something other than me at an age in which I was too young to wear long pants.”

The conversation continued despite Douglas’ protests, ranging from his worst school pictures (proving once again his height deficiency), to his eager participation in a local Dr Who convention, and skipping quickly over the issue of his marriages, flipping desperately through the pages of the photo album to rest on a picture of Douglas sporting a black eye from a run-in he’d had with his daughter’s inflatable pool.

Funnily enough, Arthur was his saving grace in turning the conversation away from his past indecencies. Not through any specific impetus, Douglas was sure, but nevertheless, his endlessly curious young friend’s questioning spared him a few more moments of scrutiny.

“Douglas doesn’t talk about you lot much. I mean not that that’s weird or anything. I mean, it’s not like he’s not talking about you specifically, he doesn’t talk about a lot of things. Well, that’s not really true, he does talk about A Lot of things, most of them I don’t even understand. But he doesn’t talk about a lot of things things, like you guys, you know?”

“Robert, are you following this?”

“Not a whiff.”

“All I was saying, I suppose my question was, since he’s not told us a lot about you, why don’t you?” He finished brightly, to blank expressions.

“Why don’t we what, honey?”

“Why don’t you tell us about you! Like, I know you’re a writer Mrs McNab, which is brilliant, and you’re American which is brilliant. And you, Mr Hiller, you’ve…your eyebrows are very intimidating, which is also brilliant.”

Carolyn saved them from further explanation. “I think what my son is trying to ask you, if he ever got around to it, is to tell us more about you. For example, and for the novelty of asking a coherent question, how did the two of you meet?”

“It’s a funny story actually.” Dorothy grinned.

“No it isn’t.” Countered Robert, immediately.

“It’s pretty funny.”

“I wouldn’t say so.”

Dorothy pursed her lips and made a face that was the equivalent of very heartily placing her hands on her hips.

“Amusing.”

“Debatable.”

“Comical.”

“I certainly don’t believe so.”

“Jocular.” Dorothy threw out, clearly stretching for synonyms.

“No such thing I’m afraid.”

“Alright, then I take it all back Robert.” Dorothy’s voice raised with her sarcastic tone. “It’s a completely average, boring story with no hint of impropriety or entertainment.”

Robert smiled. “Quite so.”

“I can see where Douglas gets his agreeable personality from.” Carolyn told Herc, loud enough for them to hear.

“Carolyn, please.” Herc made a gesture to lower her voice.

“No Hercules, she’s absolutely right.” Dorothy waved his objection away. “Dougie’s been arguing back as soon as he could talk. I swear his first words might just have been ‘I think not, Mother.’ Too much of his father in him.”

Robert looked askance. “His father? I rather think the willingness to jump straight into unnecessary conflict is a particularly American trait if you catch my meaning.”

“How can I not when you’re tossing it straight at me.”

“You were telling everyone about how you met.” Douglas interjected before the conversation could derail too far into a battle of the wills. 

“Right, well to cut a long and apparently very uneventful story short, when I moved to London, I hired Robert as my butler.”

That sent a ripple of surprise around the room. Douglas’ father surveyed them all imperiously, ready at a moment's notice to defend the noble art of service, though probably less likely to mention his equally important art of filching his employers’ silverware.

“He worked for you?” Carolyn asked.

“Yes, and he was always so responsible and caring, and sweet.”

Robert blanched. “I was not sweet.”

“You were and you are, you just don’t want to admit it or it’ll ruin your image.”

Douglas frowned, trying not read into that comment regarding himself and failing miserably.

Arthur gaped at them. “Wow, so you were a butler Mr Hiller, that must have been brilliant!”

“Indeed, service is a noble and self-sacrificing art, one that Douglas himself was once tempted to.”

Martin’s teacup clattered in its saucer as he coughed, accidentally sending a stream of tea rushing through his nose.

“Service? Douglas?” Martin repeated, once he'd recovered.

“Oh yes,” Dorothy confirmed, “Dougie was following his father around as soon as he could walk. Always copying, always mimicking, he was always so clingy as a boy, it was wonderfully loving, how much he needed people.”

Douglas could feel a strange cold melting down his back, as he watched these people who’d known him for years quickly strip away at every piece of dignity he’d spent so long carefully constructing. He was beginning to recognise the feeling he had at that moment. It wasn’t something he’d felt in many, many years, not since he’d had his last drink. He was feeling that same kind of heady confusion, the sense that you weren’t really part your body, and that you might say or do something out of control at any moment.

Arthur whispered something in Martin’s ear, and Martin nodded but Douglas couldn’t quite bring himself to care what was said. They left the room, Martin still recovering from the tea incident.

“Of course, once we started seeing each other, Robert stopped being my butler, but he never lost his touch. Watch what I can do.”

Without warning Dorothy ducked down and kissed Robert on the cheek, pressing her nose against his skin.

“Madam!” Robert responded, automatically.

“I love it when he does that.” Dorothy laughed.

Douglas was suddenly aware that he was alone. That he was standing alone rather, not that he was alone in general. Although, that wasn’t particularly far from the truth he reluctantly admitted to himself. Now that Martin and Arthur had left the room, Douglas was standing, by himself, facing two couples who were, for all intents and purposes, happy. His mother was sitting on the arm of his father’s chair as he pretended to chastise her for impropriety. Herc had his arm across the sofa, and Carolyn had leant back into it, probably thinking that since it was behind her no-one could see. Douglas saw.

His brooding brain was working overtime to convince him that they were laughing at him, in their closeness with each other. His regular self, the sensible side of him, was trying to desperately to argue back. However, the longer he was left to his own devices, the more compelling the points made by that devilish part of his mind seemed to be. It hadn’t been good when they’d been talking about him, but now, characteristically, it was even worse that they weren’t.

He snapped back to reality to hear Dorothy speak again.

“Some people think it's strange I was his boss, but as far as I see it, as long as you’ve got respect for each other who gives a damn.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Herc said, looking saccharinely down at Carolyn, who was suddenly very interested in the detailing on her teacup. “Respect and honesty are all you need.”

“I suppose that’s a crack about me is it Herc?” Douglas asked, without meaning to.

Herc looked at him, surprised.

“Not at all, I was simply-”

“Simply implying that my marriage failed because I was lying to her about my rank at the airline.” Douglas knew he was spouting nonsense, but he couldn’t stop himself.

This wasn’t how he’d intended to break the news about his messy personal life to his parents. His intention had in fact been to take it to his grave. But now that he’d started he found himself rambling like a derailing train from which the conductor had just jumped off to save himself, leaving the passengers to plummet into the nearest ravine. Besides, in a perverse way it felt good to say something, anything to let these feelings out of his brain and into the world.

“Well I’m sorry if I don’t meet your high standards of a healthy relationship Hercules. Maybe I’ll get together with your _four_ ex-wives and we’ll all discuss it together.”

“Douglas, wait-” Carolyn said, but Douglas was on a roll now.

“Oh Carolyn, how good of you to join the conversation, how about we pry into your private life now. Why don’t you sit here and tell us all about your sister?”

“Douglas, I will pretend that comment about my sister never happened if you shut up and listen to what I have to say. I don’t know what you’ve got yourself so worked up about, but we came here today to have a nice day and meet your parents-”

“But why? Why is everyone so concerned with intruding on my personal life? Why is no-one ever content to simply let me alone to live out my days in dignified yet enigmatic solitude until I eventually come around to loveable eccentric who sits at the end of the bar with a martini and teaches the young women there things that they can’t learn from the flyboys running the aeroplanes these days.”

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble Douglas but that man doesn’t exist. No young woman wants your gin soaked breath explaining the offside rule to them while they pretend to laugh.” Carolyn huffed.

“And I rather think you’ve hit eccentric already old boy.”

“Oh thank you so much for your input Hercules. I’m so glad you could be here for this.”

“Douglas you don’t understand-”

“No I rather don’t think I do. And you still haven’t answered my question, why were you all so bloody insistent on meeting up today?”

Silence followed his question until, from the other room, he heard a distant singing growing horrifyingly louder by the second.

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear- oh what’s going on in here?”

Oh bugger. They were doing it for him.

“My birthday isn’t until next week." Douglas muttered weakly into the awkward silence.

Carolyn readjusted her jacket, not looking at him. “Yes, well, we thought that given how annoyingly perceptive you are that this was the only way to properly surprise you. Now that I think about it, we were probably overestimating your observation skills.”

Douglas closed his eyes. That was why they had all said they were free. This was why his mother cancelled her book signing. Why Carolyn had insisted on the stopover in London before moving on to Lisbon. Why Arthur had said the word cake about a hundred times on the flight down, because he was desperately trying to keep the secret. And it was why Martin had chosen, on one of his very seldom nights free, to visit Douglas’ parents. It wasn’t to torture him at all. They’d all come together to celebrate his birthday, and he’d just yelled at them for it.

“Ah,” he began, “you see, the thing is-”

"We forgive you, Douglas.” Carolyn told him, quickly.

Douglas scoffed. “Well, I’m not sure I need to be _forgiven_ as such.”

“Of course not.” Her voice was dismissive, and she turned away from him to rally the others around the cake. It would have seemed a callous gesture from anyone else, but from Carolyn, to him, it was the kindest thing she could have done.

Douglas coughed. “I think I need a glass of water.”

Carolyn waved him off without looking at him, making sure everyone was busied around the plates and napkins. Douglas hurried into the kitchen, looking down at the sink, embarrassment burning his cheeks. Almost nothing caused Douglas Richardson real shame. Discomfort or an affront to his propriety sure, but this was the man who’d tried to pass himself off as a Flemish opera manager once in order to sneak a hundred flamingos over the border as ‘part of a new production based on Noah’s ark, about what would happen if all the animals were instead, flamingos.’” He’d staged a full aria in the customs line without breaking a sweat, but that was different. That wasn’t personal.

A strangled sort of noise came from behind him. Douglas turned around to see Martin hovering in the doorway, hand raised to his mouth like he was about to cough. He made the noise again, then put his hands in his pockets before quickly taking them out again and straightening his tie. It was almost fascinating watching Martin struggle to appear natural, he looked at the ceiling as if he were suddenly captivated by the crown moulding on the lights, then back at Douglas, then at the utensils crowding the little kitchen bench, then at Douglas again, all the while letting his hands dance around like he had no idea what to do with them.

“Did you need something, Martin?” Douglas asked, casually, hoping he would say no.

“No.” Good. “Oh well yes actually.” Bugger.

“What is it?”

Martin froze for a few seconds. “…fork.”

Douglas blinked slowly. “Fork?”

“Yes, forks! For the eating, for cake, for eating the cake.”

“Oh right, sure.” Douglas pulled open the cutlery drawer so Martin could come and take a handful of forks out. Martin did, and turned around to leave before spinning on his heel to face Douglas again, forks clutched to his chest.

“Douglas, I didn’t just come in here for the forks.”

“Really? But you were so convincing.”

Martin’s face looked pained. “Look it was just that Carolyn said ‘we need forks’ in _that_ voice, you know the one.”

“I have a passing familiarity with the dragon tongue yes.”

“Yes exactly and then she gave me this look that was like, I should go get them but she didn’t just mean the forks, obviously. I think she wanted me to talk to you. Or maybe,” a fear dawned on Martin’s face, “maybe she did just mean forks and she didn’t want me to bother you, and I mean I was going to come talk to you anyway because, well, you know, and now I’m not…so…sure…why are you laughing?”

The one thing you could always count on Martin for was to just be so… _Martin_.

“Swiss Airways hasn’t changed you a bit.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“Ordinarily I would delight in letting you walk the delicate balance between them and fret yourself into a tangle, but as I’m feeling generous,” Douglas tapped on a loose tile on the backboard of the kitchen, which swung open, revealing a half empty liquor bottle, “it was rather more the complimentary variety. Drink?”

“Oh well, thank you, I will.”

Douglas chuckled, passing the bottle to Martin.

“Just to think how many months you must have been trying out that new persona, and all it takes to collapse it is one afternoon in the Richardson household.”

“Yes well, it was starting to feel a bit silly anyway, using it around you guys.”

They were quiet for a moment while Martin took a sip.

“What, happened in there?” Martin asked hesitantly.

Douglas shook his head, trying not to relive the scene of his embarrassment.

“I don’t know.” He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them again. “Well, that’s not true, I do know I just don’t like it. I- I haven’t had people meet my family for a long time. Hell, Helena first met them at the wedding.”

“But why? They’re lovely people, if a bit…strange.”

“It’s not them, it’s what they represent, if that makes sense. My childhood, my adolescence, time periods best left in the past. Nothing that anyone need be concerned with now.”

“But we’re your friends Douglas, we’ve been getting to know you for years, why wouldn’t we want to know more?”

“Because what if its not good enough?” The words tumbled out, surprising him. Martin was certainly taken aback.

Douglas continued.

“I mean, if people like me it’s only because they know me the way I want them to. I have a reputation to maintain as a cool, unaffected, honey-voiced sky god you know.”

“Oh Douglas,” Martin rested against the kitchen countertop, “we’ve always known you were a sap.”

“I am not!” He replied indignantly.

“You are too. In addition to being the sneakiest man I have ever met…”

“Thank you.”

“…you’re also the most reliable. In all the time I’ve known you I don’t think you’ve ever let someone you care about fail or be stuck because of a problem. You go out of your way to solve it for them, and you can pretend it’s for the satisfaction of proving your own superiority all you like, but everyone in that other room knows it's because not so deep down you are a big sappy, kind-hearted, softie.”

“Well you don’t have to be rude about it.”

Martin laughed and they were a quiet for a while until Douglas cleared his throat.

“All right, I’m only going to say this once and if I ever find out you repeated it to anyone I will toss you into the Indian ocean from forty thousand feet.”

Martin lifted his right palm. “I am sworn to secrecy.”

Douglas took a moment to collect himself before he started.

“One of the reasons that I was so nervous about you meeting my family was that, over the last several years, what with all the time we’ve spent together and the scrapes we went through and whatnot. That I have come to consider…you lot, as a… family…of sorts, besides Herc of course. And I thought that perhaps, if these two areas of my life collided, it might throw into light how shambolic my life is right now. I’m pushing sixty, I’ve been divorced for the third time, and I’ve just made captain at an airline with one plane, and that was mostly as a _favour._ ”

Martin thought for a moment.

“Or,” he began, “on the other hand, you’ve finally been given the position you were hired for now that you don’t have a coworker working for free, in an airline you have almost singlehandedly kept solvent through your various schemes. And as for the divorce, you might not have a wife anymore, but as you said, you have two families full of people who care about you and don’t really care if you’re a smooth-talking aeroplane captain or a surprisingly short butler-in-training. If we want to know more about you, Douglas, it’s not to try and prove that you’re not perfect or there are things you can’t do, heaven knows if we did you’d probably learn how to do it just to spite us. It’s because, well I will admit yes maybe it is to engage in some friendly teasing, but it’s also because we already like you, and that’s not going to change.”

“You’re not going to try to hug me are you?”

“God no.”

“Oh good, about halfway through that speech I started worrying that we were heading for hug territory and I admit I missed most of the second half because of it.” He hadn’t, but he thought Martin would be gracious enough to let him have this one.

Martin nodded. “I won’t lie, I did consider that perhaps you were expecting it, given the tender moment and all. But I thought, better stay on the safe side, the less touching the better.”

Douglas extended his hand, which Martin took and they shared a manly handshake, which somehow transformed into an even manlier hug, which was not at all tender and warm-hearted and from which no-one came away with a tear in the corner of their eye.

“Heavens, you were in there forever.” Carolyn said when they re-entered, showing no sign of the meaningful interaction that had just occurred. 

"I had to let Arthur blow out the candles and cut the cake in your honour. Just so you know, you wished to be in a television show alongside a dog riding in a convertible vehicle wearing pilot’s goggles and a scarf.” 

“Did I now? Well let’s hope the quality content division does their job and never allows my program to air.”

“It wasn’t a tv show mum, it was an ad.”

“That does sound more your speed Arthur,” Martin chimed in, “was the television show too lofty a proposition? You thought you should shoot for something a little more realistic?”

“No I just think that ads are really fun.”

“Really?” Dorothy asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who thought tv ads were ‘fun’.”

"Oh yeah, because you get to see all sorts of different little videos that don’t make sense! That’s the best part, because you don’t have the complicated plot you have with a tv show or a movie or a book.”

“Or a takeout menu.” Douglas muttered.

“I see you’re feeling better.” Carolyn said, sidling up to him as he watched his family and friends eat cake and discuss Arthur’s ad campaign.

“Yes well, about that. I’m sorry Carolyn, and you know how hard that is for me to say.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll just have to remember to celebrate on your actual birthday next time, won’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose you will. That was rather short-sighted of you if you think about it.”

“Don’t push it, Richardson.”

Douglas smiled as Arthur handed him a piece of cake and Carolyn returned to her seat beside Herc.

It was far later that they bid their goodbyes to Douglas’ parents, Carolyn and Dorothy coming away unsure if they were firm friends or bitter rivals, and Martin leaving still blissfully unaware that Robert had his sights set on using him as a pawn for a brand new smuggling ring.

Outside in the cool London evening, Douglas took a deep breath. The rest of the party had continued the embarrassing carousel of his past, but he was dealing with the whole thing a bit better now he thought. Ha, take that self-reflection! It turns out you don’t need to constantly be assessing yourself and your actions, all you need to do is wait until your insecurities bubble over and cause you to lash out at your loved ones in a moment of kindness. A perfect system.

As they were walking back to the car, Douglas reluctantly fell in step with Herc.

“Are you here to shout at me about my marriages?” Herc asked.

Douglas stuffed his hands inside his pockets.

“Ah, I see you haven’t got the memo not to talk about Douglas’ little outburst.” Everyone else had been very carefully side-stepping the issue so far.

“Carolyn did ask me not to, but, I think I deserve one.”

“Look, I do know that you weren’t having a crack at me back there, it wasn’t fair to snap at you. And,” Douglas sighed a painful drawn out sigh, “I have the sneaking suspicion that you were the one who put all this together in the first place. Those schedules littering your desk are beginning to make a lot more sense now, I knew you weren’t doing your timesheets.”

Herc spread his hands wide in the universal symbol of ‘you got me’.

“I know you like to have your fun, Douglas, but I also know there isn’t a pilot alive I’d rather have as my captain.”

“That’s because I don’t enforce any rules and let you dip the nose whenever you start feeling bored.”

Herc laughed. “Alright, that’s enough sincerity for one day. I’ll resume my lofty superiority and you can get back to your unrepentant mockery.”

Herc soon outpaced him and joined up with Carolyn, who not only allowed him to place his arm around her shoulders, but placed her arm around his waist in return. Douglas walked by himself, behind the group, watching Martin explain something to Arthur that Arthur was too polite to stop listening to.

He was still thinking about what Martin had said earlier, about how none of them would care if they found out something about him was less than perfect. He knew that, of course. In all the years he’d known them, he’d revealed a lot about himself, his failed marriages, his drinking problem, his…well he couldn’t think of a third thing. Other than those he was pretty much perfect in every way. He sighed as his brain tried once again to avoid the issue.

Until he was thrust into this situation he hadn’t realised how deep that insecurity ran, that one that needed everyone to think he was the best at everything. Most of the time that need came in handy, considering his desire to be perfect more often than not, made him so. But he did know that it was the reason he was so bothered by Herc all the time. It wasn’t because Herc’s behaviour or personality was any more egregious than his, but because he secretly thought that underneath it all, Herc might just be a little bit of a better person than him. A bit. Probably not though.

There, see, Douglas Richardson was capable of serious self-reflection, he just got to choose when it was relevant. Soon they were back in the car and on their way to their hotel. Douglas sat in the back, in the middle, and didn’t complain once, which was a tremendous feat of willpower if he did say so himself.

Martin won yellow car.

Douglas let him win. It was the least he could do.


End file.
